Like Slow Sweet Molasses (28 page)

“Yeah.”
He sucked the last of his brew down and slowly stood. “Thanks for listening,
Trell.”

“You
got a plan?”

“Not
a good one—but I have one. I’ll try her cell on my way to Aunt Belle’s.”

Trell
gave a twisted smile. “And Tina?”

“Is
why I’m staying at Aunt Belle’s. To keep the commotion to a minimum.”

Trell
walked Chance to the door. “Glad I’m not in your shoes.”

“Yeah.
I feel like I’ve walked this road before. This time I have a damn good reason
to fight for love,” he relayed. “I don’t have a doubt that she loves me, too.”

“Then,go
get her, Bro.”

Chance
took Trell’s words in the literal sense sitting in his car in front of the
house to call Angela’s number one more time. “Crap! Voicemail…again.”

Coincidentally,
Angela, too, worried about their relationship all the way to her house where
she drove into her drive instead of Mrs. Thatcher’s dead set on making an
unobserved arrival due to her severe exhaustion. She rolled as far inward as
she could before leaving the confines of the automobile. Joy burned like fire
through her veins. She was so thrilled to be home as she unlocked the door to
step into her haven.

Her
eyes searched for anything out of the ordinary that alluded to an intrusion.
She saw nothing unusual. Neither did any telltale scents warn of danger. Angela
wheeled her bag to the kitchen not only to shelve her medications but also
check her fax for the all important contract. The light over the sink flipped
on. The machine had papers in the tray that she didn’t disturb because before
her hand cleared the suitcase handle, the doorbell rang, disrupting her. Woman’s
intuition alerted her to the visitor’s identity but omitted the knowledge that
Mrs. Thatcher was not alone.

“Coming,”
she raised her voice a degree. “Just a minute.” Water sprayed her front as she
quickly filled a tall glass with an unsteady hand to wash down a pain pill,
tidying up the area by pushing the bottles to an out of the way corner of the
counter. Now was the time for an Academy Award performance to keep the
kindhearted soul in the dark regarding her plight. Angela hustled over and shot
a look out the blinds as a measure of security.

“It’s
me,” the kindly faced woman said. “Belle.”

A
false smile greeted her neighbor as she held the door open without stepping
outside. “What’s all of this?” she inquired of the huge covered casserole
pieces clacking together as Mrs. Thatcher strained to control the weighty dish
on her sprint to the kitchen. “Here,” Angela offered in pursuit. “Let me take
that.”

“Chance
fried this big hen turkey this morning just for…”

She
halted mid-sentence, Angela noted, and appeared nonplussed as she stared at the
front door. “Are you alright?”

“I
was just saying he wanted to fry a turkey for Thanksgiving.” In the next
breath, “Don’t just stand out there in the cold, child. Get in here.”

Angela
set the dish on the counter and turned in the direction where Mrs. Thatcher
directed her comment. A teen entered loaded with newspapers stuffed in a
plastic sack in one hand and a wad of mail in the other. Her dark garb was a
dead giveaway as to who entered as if she’d stepped into a snake pit. If that
wasn’t an obvious identifier, the hardened glint in her eyes didn’t smother her
father’s sea-green trait. This had to be Kelsy.

“Come
on in,” Angela invited with a smile, hoping to win one in return.

“Kelsy,
meet the best neighbor I’ve had in a long while.”

“Hi,
Kelsy. I’m Angela,” she waited in vain for some response.

“Where
are your manners, child?” Mrs. Thatcher chided as Kelsy stood gaping.

The
teen couldn’t pull her eyes from Angela to generate a show of good behavior.
Instead, she flat out asked, “You’re Angela? The one my Dad talks about all the
time? The one who helped him plan the week of the lamest activities we’ve ever
done?”

Her
great aunt exclaimed shading to a bright red, “Kelsy!”

Angela
thought Kelsy’s words totally undeserving and harshly wound-inflicting. But,
she responded, “One and the same.” Her body felt like one gigantic toothache as
her system fought to repair itself. Her stamina flagged at the flippant remarks
and she staggered under the duress, managing to quip as she weaved to a table
chair, “Having your father’s undivided attention and spending quality time with
him didn’t meet with your approval?”

“I-I
didn’t say that,” she blasted saucily, topping off the tantrum by slamming the
bag in the center of the floor. The mail left her hands like an Old Yellow
eruption.

“Wait
until I tell your daddy, young lady.” Mrs. Thatcher was beyond herself as she
tried to minimize her anger. “Young people today.” She plodded over to spin
Kelsy towards the door. “He’s going to be on you like a duck on a June bug.”

Angela
pursued the topic. “What are you saying, Kelsy?” Hoping against hope that she
not suffer any indignities at the hands of a minor.

“What
does he see in you?” Words tumbled, uninhibited, from her mouth. “You’re not
tall. You’re not pretty. You’re not…” She stopped on the edge of the precipice.

“Go
on. Say it,” Angela dared.

“White.”

So
that’s how I sound
she concluded sadly.

“That’s
it. Get to the house.” Mrs. Thatcher’s embarrassment prevented her from meeting
Angela’s eyes.

“It’s
a pity in this day and age someone as young as you still gravitate towards
hatred and the biased doctrines spewed in some arenas.” Angela stood. “At this
rate, the world doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m
sorry…”

“You
owe me no apology, Mrs. Thatcher. But, I’m worn out from my trip. If you’ll
excuse me, I’m going to bed, now.” The old lady steered Kelsy by the shoulders
with more velocity than Angela thought her capable of.

“I’ll
send Chance over when he gets back.”

“No.
Don’t do that,” she disagreed. “I haven’t the strength to tackle one more
problem tonight.” Angela’s comprehension of her neighbor’s look made her
reiterate. “I’m going straight to bed. Goodnight, Mrs. Thatcher.”

“Goodnight,
Sweet Child.” Poking Kelsy’s shoulder, “Say goodnight.”

It
came out grudgingly. “Goodnight.”

Closing
and locking up for the night, Angela revved up her nerves to attack the stairs.
Try as she might to put the disturbing scene at Chance’s to rest it was no use
for her chest compressed squeezing the air from her oxygen-starved lungs. Her
whole body smarted. The altercation with Kelsy cut her to the quick. Yet, it
was the unbearable grief in her chest that persisted because no pill existed to
numb a broken heart.

This
night ranked right up there with the time she found out her biological father’s
identity. She walked around in a haze for days unable to come to grips with the
illicit facts of her life. Everything in her world resembled a false expression
of the truth. So did this ill-fated relationship with Chance. He had a great
aversion to honesty as was seen in the scantily clothed woman ensconced in his
loft. As if that wasn’t enough, whether he knew it or not, he was the proud
father of a little bigot-to-be. No, it appeared she was right the first time.
The time she drew the imaginary line in the sand and told him not to step over
or they both would regret it.

Here
she was a few measly days later doing just that to the tune of an entire box of
tissue.

“Why
are you crying?” she asked aloud while stifling her sniffles. “You thought him
different. A rare breed.” She blew her nose. “Get over it. Get over him.”

Getting
over Chance wouldn’t be as easy as saying it as she heard his throbbing motor
pulling into Mrs. Thatcher’s drive. She doused the lights shuttering the house
in darkness to give him pause about showing up at her door tonight. Once she
lay down to snuggle under the covers, all energy drained from her body leaving
her too limber to move a muscle.

The
pill took effect as she closed her eyes to the world and Mrs. Thatcher brought
Chance up on the happenings. Quite perturbed and almost willing to risk going
to jail for child abuse, she met him at the back door where the tale spilled
incoherently from her lips.

“Aunt
Belle, calm down.” His keys jingled to the table as he fell into a seat
covertly taking in both females’ body language. As if getting a call from Tina
saying she needed a ride from the airport wasn’t enough misery for today. “What
happened?”

“I’ll
tell you what happened,” his aunt puffed. “Your little angel, in reality, is a
devil in disguise. She insulted Angela’s heritage.”

“Angela’s
home?” Chance didn’t blow up. He simply wanted the facts before jumping to
conclusions. “Is that true, Kel?” He looked at his offspring wondering where he
went wrong. Crucifying himself for her appearance. Perhaps, it was his
absenteeism that drove her to such lengths. “I’m waiting.”

“I
spoke the truth, Dad. You always encouraged the truth.”

She
had him there. “What was your truth?” Her head dropped an inch or so.

“I
said her idea of a good vacation for me was dull and boring.”

“That’s
only part of it,” Belle intervened. “Tell Brock the rest.”

“I
only said she wasn’t white.”

Chance’s
lips formed a thin line. He counted to ten before saying another word. “What
did race have to do with anything?”

“She’s
not your type, Dad.” Kelsy pouted and wound her way over to drop in the
adjacent chair.

“You
think you know my type, Kel? What’s my type?”

She’s
not,” Kelsy protested. “That’s for sure,” she sang. “She’s too plain…too
short…too…too—”

“Brown?”
he supplied when she bit her tongue to blot the criticism.

“Yeah,
Dad,” she admitted spitefully. “We don’t need any Ka-Vivors in our family.”

“Kelsy!
What crap is that?” He refused to repeat the phrase and his displeasure etched
all over his handsome face. His eyes switched momentarily to see his aunt’s
reaction. She stood silently by with a hand to her chest, thoroughly aghast.
The legs of Chance’s chair scraped as he shoved back and towered above his
daughter. When she didn’t answer, he chastised, “Answer me, dammit! Where did
you get that crap?”

“Gee,
Dad. It’s not like I said the N-word or anything,” she rationalized while
looking up at him, seeking his favor with her own green eyes.

“Sounds
derogatory to me. It’s an attack of a particular culture.” He crossed his arms
and waited, head tilted to the side with a one-eyed squint.

“I
picked it up from the kids at school, okay? It’s a nickname for Katrina
survivors.”

“That’s
it!” Chance lost all patience. “Love ones were lost in that storm. Families separated
across these United States without the knowledge of where they’d end up or even
if they’d survive the upheaval after the storm.” He wanted to shake some
compassion into her. “Children taken from parents…spouses and significant
others separated from each other. Some lost family members and everything
they’d worked long and hard for—all in the blink of an eye.”

He
came up for air. “If you’d been here…in that chair…during Hurricane Katrina,
it’s possible you’d have floated away, too. Aunt Belle,” he twisted in aunt’s
direction to see her swipe at her eyes, “got water inside but not nearly as bad
as others.”

“I
don’t see where what I said is so bad,” she complained in a grouchy manner.

Chance
knelt in front of Kelsy. “That’s a problem, Baby, if you don’t. I don’t know
what they’re teaching you up there? I think you need a father’s hand fulltime.
I’ll speak to your mother about that this weekend.”

“My
friends are in Montana,” she whined.

“I’m
beginning to wonder about those you call friends. A new cultural experience is
just what you need. More diversity in your life.”

“Dad,
I like it back home. I’ll die in New Orleans. It’s too, too…confining.”

He
didn’t know the word she kept to herself. However, Chance knew that term wasn’t
it. “I’m very disappointed in you, Kel. To show you how far off the mark you
are, Angela’s not from New Orleans. Her hometown is Chicago. She relocated here
as a volunteer after the storm. She returned because her heart was in the right
place and she wanted to make a difference in the lives of children here. Angela
is no more a Katrina survivor than you. What she is, is a Katrina
provider
…providing
her talents and skills to make a difference.”

Kelsy
didn’t shy away from her father’s gaze matching his blink for blink. “I can’t
give you a dose of benevolence or a spoonful humanity to keep your mind open to
new experiences. I can give you encouragement not be so judgmental and
narrow-minded in your views of the world and others in it.”

Chance
kissed her cheek on his way to his feet. “We’d better get going. Your mother’s
waiting.”

“Mom’s
here?” elation tinkled in her voice.